


Baking for the Dead

by InsaneTrollLogic



Category: Pushing Daisies, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneTrollLogic/pseuds/InsaneTrollLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the girl called Chuck and the Pie Maker runs across the brothers Winchester and a soul stealing demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Выпечка для покойника](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285283) by [Fotini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fotini/pseuds/Fotini)



> Originally posted to LJ 12/22/2007

The Winchester brothers, Dean and Sam, were twenty-eight years, fourteen weeks, four days, six hours, three minutes and fifty two seconds and twenty-four years, two days, ten hours and twenty seven minutes and fourteen seconds old respectively. The elder Winchester brother had sold his soul to a demon in exchange for his brother’s life. He was given a year before the deadly demon came to extract the debt in the form of the elder Winchester’s soul.   
  
And his year is almost up.  
  
It is for this reason that the younger Winchester is sitting in the Pie Hole eating a piece of the Pie Maker’s Triple Berry Pie and talking to the girl named Chuck.  
  
“See, my brother, Dean,” Sam Winchester said. “He sold his soul to a crossroads demon in exchange for my life and now if I don’t find a loophole before his year is up, Dean’s going to hell.”  
  
“Oh,” said Chuck. “That’s terrible! How long does he have left?”  
  
“Thursday,” Sam said.   
  
“Thursday as in tomorrow, Thursday?”  
  
He nods. “I’ve been looking for anything that may break the deal, but it sounds pretty--.”  
  
“Ironclad?”  
  
“Yeah, ironclad,” Sam agreed, staring at his hands. Then he turned to Chuck, eyes bright again. “But then I found out about you!”  
  
“Me?” Chuck squeaked. “There’s nothing special about me. I make honey. I work in the Pie Hole!”  
  
“But you’re lonely tourist Charlotte Charles,” Sam said, pulling an assortment of newspaper articles from the depths of his battered jacket. “I’ve been researching every aspect of this case and I can’t find anything wrong with it. In most cases of necromancy, there’s some sort of deal involved, a ritual, a demon, something, but I couldn’t find any hint of demonic influence. I want to know how you’ve done it.”  
  
Despite being in possession of somewhat imposing size and being what some would call, an anti-Christ, the younger Winchester had surprisingly sincere eyes. And the girl named Chuck wanted to keep the Pie Maker’s secret, but after the way the younger Winchester’s voice cracked when he said, “Please, Charlotte. He’s my brother.” She found it quite impossible to lie to him.   
  
“There are consequences,” she said softly. “Big bad consequences and even if there weren’t I don’t know how Ned would—“  
  
“Ned?”  
  
Chuck covered her mouth. “Ooops.”  
  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
The elder Winchester was eating pies like it was his last day which in fact, it very well might be. “God,” he moaned. “I love pie.”  
  
“Well,” said Olive Snook, setting down his fourth slice. “I love a man who loves his pie.” She turned to Sam. “More for you sweetie?”  
  
Sam shook his head, staring as Dean grinned around a mouthful of pie. “You’re disgusting,” he said.  
  
“Sure you don’t want some pie, Sammy?”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Your loss. You know this almost makes up for spending my last day in this creepy-ass town. Seriously dude, you see the candy shop across the street? This is like Stepford creepy.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“But hey,” Dean continued, “not my problem, is it? You’ll be the one hunting down this creepy ass mother who designed this place?”  
  
“Creepy?” a voice chirped as its owner slid into the booth on the side next to Dean. “I don’t think it’s creepy. I think it’s aesthetically pleasing and cheerfully chipper.” She frowned. “Though I can see how someone in your line of work would feel uncomfortable in such a situation.”  
  
“Their line of work?” stammered Ned, sliding into the seat next to Sam. “Their line of work? Generally speaking I don’t like lines of work that need euphemisms like ‘their kind of work.’”  
  
“Not that this isn’t crazy fun,” Dean said around a bite of pie. “But who the hell are you?”  
  
Sam glanced over at Chuck before looking back at his brother. “They’re here to help, Dean.”  
  
“Here to help?” Ned squawked. “Chuck you didn’t tell me we were here help! What are we helping with?”  
  
“Ned, I told you there were people here I wanted you to meet. I thought it was implied that I wanted you to help that.”  
  
“Sam, seriously,” Dean said. “What could these two possibly help us with?”  
  
“Exactly,” Ned said. “I can’t help with anything in their line of work, which by the way, looks like it could be a highly terrifying line of work, I make pies.”  
  
“The pies are freaking awesome,” Dean said, raising his fork in toast.   
  
“Thank you,” Ned said, mildly bewildered.  
  
“Look,” said Sam, turning to face Ned. “We know you can raise the dead.”  
  
“You told them?!” Ned sputtered in Chuck’s direction.  
  
Chuck shrugged. “In my defense, they kind of sort of already knew. They caught wind of my not being dead and came investigating.”  
  
“Wait!” Dean said, “Please tell me this is not about the deal. Sammy, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I back out of this deal and you die.”  
  
“Glad to know I’m not the only one out of the loop.” Ned said. “And if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is your line of work?”  
  
The facts were these: when the younger Winchester was exactly six months, two hours and thirty-one minutes old, his mother spontaneously combusted over his cradle. His father, John Winchester pulled the younger Winchester from his cradle and handed him to the elder and they have been the Winchester brothers ever since. Their father, John became the Hunter and raised them to become to same. Today, the Winchester brothers transverse the country hunting ghost, ghouls, demons and other unsavory particulars of the paranormal.  
  
“Let me get this straight,” Ned said. “The two of you are ghost busters who sometimes deal in demons and now one of the demons has a claim on your soul because you sold it in order to bring your little brother back from the dead?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “That’s it in a nutshell.”  
  
“Isn’t that sweet,” Chuck cooed. “You two are the sweetest set of brothers I’ve ever met.”  
  
Sam and Dean exchanged uneasy glances.  
  
“I don’t exactly see how I can help,” Ned said. “I mean, I deal primarily in dead people and your brother isn’t dead at the moment and even if we were to wait until your brother is dead, I could only bring him back for a minute unless someone else died instead.”  
  
“Whoa,” Dean said. “Hold on a minute. I am not liking this plan. There is no way I’m going to let someone else take my place again. Not some stranger and certainly not you. I’m sorry, Sammy, but I’m going to hell tonight and that’s all right. Well, not all right, but it’s something I can live with, or die with, whatever.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” said Chuck hesitantly, “again?”  
  
Sam glanced over towards her. “It’s a really long story.”  
  
Ned folded his arms over his chest. “I just don’t see a way we can make this plan feasible.”  
  
“Oh, me and Sam did this part yesterday,” Chuck said, grinning brightly. “You want to tell them or should I?”  
  
“We may have found your loophole,” Sam told his brother.  
  
“So the plan is, Dean and Ned go to a very secluded place where the demon comes and kills Dean at midnight.”  
  
“Then,” Sam said, edging up in his seat as he picked up the narrative, “Ned touches Dean and waits for a minute and—“  
  
“—it’s the demon who’s dead and not Dean!” Chuck finished. “It’s that great?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ned said. “Great. Can we back up to the part where me and Dean are left alone in the presence of a soul stealing demon because that’s the part I’m not so comfortable about.”  
  
“We don’t even know if it’s going to work,” Dean agreed.  
  
“And then there’s the part with the soul sucking demon, am I really the only one thinking rationally here?”  
  
“Dean,” Sam said. “If we don’t try this, you’re going to die tonight.  
  
“Fine,” Dean grumbled.  
  
“Ned,” prompted Chuck.  
  
“Okay, all right. I’ll do it.”  
  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Which is how the elder Winchester and the Pie Maker found themselves in an abandoned cemetery at midnight armed with a shot gun and rock salt as Chuck and Sam drove away in the Impala.  
  
“Look,” Dean said, turning to Ned. “I get it. Thanks for offering to help and all but this is something you really don’t want to get mixed up in.”  
  
“I don’t?” Ned said confused at being let off the hook.  
  
“No,” Dean confirmed, “You really don’t.”  
  
Ned deflated. “Oh, thank God.”  
  
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Dean said, pressing the shot gun into Ned’s hands. “The hell hounds are going to come for me and they’re going to kill me. You’re going to do your mojo—tap me twice or whatever, kill me for good and then you’re going to go tell my brother that it didn’t work.” His face softened for just a moment. “And tell him I said not to try anything stupid.”  
  
“Don’t try anything stupid?” Ned repeated. “You and your brother have a very interesting relationship.”  
  
“Your girlfriend is a zombie brought back from the dead by her necromancer childhood sweetheart and she'll die the instant you touch her. Compared to you, me and Sam are white picket fences.”  
  
“You sold your soul for the guy. That’s going above and beyond the call of duty.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you’d do the same thing for her.”  
  
They lapsed into silence.   
  
“I can here them coming,” Dean said finally.   
  
Ned glanced at his watch: 12:01.   
  
“Do me a favor,” Dean said thickly, “and tell my brother I--”  
  
And at age twenty-eight years, fourteen weeks, five days, twenty-two hours, sixteen minutes and two seconds, the elder Winchester met his end at the hands of what appeared to be invisible wild dogs. The Pie Maker had never seen someone mauled by wild dogs before. More specifically, he has never seen someone mauled by hell hounds which would account for some of the peculiarities of the death.  
  
It was over almost as quickly as it began as the elder Winchester’s body slumped unceremoniously to the ground.  
  
Breathing heavily, the Pie Maker started his watch, reached down and touched the dead man on his exposed shoulder.   
  
Dean’s body jerked into a sitting position, air seeping into only recently dead lungs. “Jesus, that hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought it would.”  
  
“The thing was invisible,” sputtered Ned. “You didn’t tell me that thing was invisible!”  
  
“Forgot,” Dean said. “You mind letting me have the whole minute? I don’t like the thought of hitting eternal hellfire before I absolutely have to.”  
  
“Not a problem,” Ned said, settling back against a gravestone. “Forty seconds. Is there anything, you wanted me to tell your brother?”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to reply when a voice said, “If it isn’t Dean Winchester weaseling his way out of our deal. You know that means I’ll get to take a crack at darling Sammy. I always liked him better anyway.”  
  
It was a demon of course, but a demon wearing the body of a beautiful brunette like most people would wear a sweater. Her red eyes gleamed maliciously.   
  
“Not weaseling,” Ned stammered. “This is just a brief reprieve from eternal damnation and hellfire, there is absolutely no weaseling.”  
  
“Well,” drawled the demon. “Who is this?”  
  
“He’s no one,” Dean said. “A good Samaritan. Never even heard of a demon before you showed up. He makes pies.”  
  
The demon looked him over in a manner than made him shiver. “I may have to look you up later Pie Maker. Anyone involved with the Winchesters is someone who should be dead.”  
  
Ned glanced at his stopwatch. Five seconds, four.  
  
“And as for you Winchester, I hope you enjoy—“  
  
Ned’s watch clicked to sixty seconds. The demon collapsed mid-sentence.  
  
Dean looked at the fallen demon in surprise. “Huh,” he said. “I really didn’t think that could work.”   
  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
It was almost dawn when the Pie Maker and the elder Winchester made their way back to the Piehole to find the Younger Winchester and the girl named Chuck sitting solemnly at the corner booth, munching on apple pie alamode.   
  
“Sammy!”  
  
It is hard to describe the emotions that the Younger Winchester felt at that moment; relief, elevation, joy and in a rare moment of affection, he embraced his older brother.  
  
And from her seat in the booth the girl named Chuck smiled at the Pie Maker because watching the Winchesters brothers hug was just as good as embracing themselves.


End file.
